


Paper Courage

by panda_shi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Ambitious But Rubbish, Crack, Epic Friendship, Explicit Language, Friendship, I Don't Even Know, Jutsu Gone Wrong, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Fourth Shinobi War, Post-Naruto Time Skip | Naruto Shippuden, Sex Pollen, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27118657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi
Summary: Iruka triggers an old, expired jutsu scroll and suffers the consequences of being a shitty casanova with bad pick up lines. Except, his target doesn't seem to be everyone as the jutsu intends to. For some reason, he's only fixated on hitting on Tenzou.
Relationships: Umino Iruka & Yamato | Tenzou, Umino Iruka/Yamato | Tenzou
Comments: 17
Kudos: 75





	Paper Courage

**Author's Note:**

> This is trash. I am also my own beta. Blah blah.

Out of all the things recovered from the destruction, out of all the possible trinkets if not outright garbage Iruka should have tossed out a decade ago, Iruka isn’t sure why the box of useless _expired_ jutsu he, Izumo, Kotetsu designed years ago in hopes to sell to shinobi (they were very desperate youngsters - the D-level missions were just not enough to buy food and hey, sometimes, you do want the good ramen brand) who may be lacking in the confidence department when it comes to scoring love.

Iruka scoffs with a put upon expression all over his face, as he stares at the crap tucked within the dilapidated box it had been delivered in. 

He remembers the scroll of course. How could he not? 

They had come up with a way to self-induce a mental genjutsu with a trigger upon release mechanism, one that had a complex chemical balance that would inject a user with a gentle hallucinogen held together with an intricate series of seals for exactly sixty minutes. Iruka vaguely remembers _how_ they had come up with it, except that the experiment was promptly discontinued when the results of the field test had Kotetsu dry humping grass and shouting out pick up lines at a hundred and ten decibels. Worse, was that the sixty minute mark had failed. Kotetsu continued to exhibit symptoms of being an utter piece of shit for not one, but five hours that by hour two, his confident woo-ing attempt at being sultry and casanova-like had deteriorated to rabid, hysteria-tinged cries of I-will-fuck-you or I-will-make-you-fuck-me.

When the jutsu finally did wear off, Kotetsu had sagged on the chair he was bound and gagged to in Izumo’s apartment and proceeded to laugh until he wet himself. He didn’t walk straight for a few hours, as if he had ingested copious amounts of alcohol and remained nauseous as if he had eaten an entire fried-squid stand in record time. Come morning, Kotetsu had vomited until he gagged on nothing but air and then proceeded to sleep like the dead for fourteen hours.

When Kotetsu finally did wake up, he suffered from what he described as the world’s worst hangover.

The emotional freaking out had been so bad through it all, that they vowed to just never use it again. Taking Kotetsu to the hospital should have been their first order of business. But then, trying to explain what and why they were trying to come up with such a jutsu to _sell_ had grounds for suspension from the field and no pay, not to mention possible prison time (it would really depend after the board examines the scroll and how they would categorize the possible danger and sabotage level). Ride or die seemed to have been the best solution -- at the time, that is.

Iruka never claimed to be a smart fifteen year old.

Neither does Izumo and Kotetsu.

There’s a reason they abide by bureaucratic behavioral rules. 

It’s a fact that half the disasters in their lives happened between the ages of fifteen to nineteen. It’s only within the past ten years did any of them truly… grow up, per se.

But so as not to waste their weeks worth of hard work, they had all agreed to put aside the ten something scrolls they had engineered for future study as it can probably be used in the field. It would have expired within three months, six if the seal isn’t totally stable, a year at most.

The little box of a botched Paper-Courage - as they had jokingly called it - had remained locked away all these years, survived Orochimaru’s attack, Pain’s destruction and now the Great Shinobi War. 

Out of all the _trash_ , these fucking scrolls had survived. 

It shouldn’t have been an issue because they would have ‘expired’ anyway. The chemical component sealed into the paper would have deteriorated all these years. 

It really shouldn’t have been a problem if Iruka accidentally released one by mistake when in a fit of annoyance and disappointment, he had tossed it careslssy back in the dilapidated box it had arrived in. 

Only to realize after swatting away at the putrid, rotten egg like stench that wrapped him in a small puff of smoke just what he had _just_ done in horror. 

Except nothing really happens.

An hour later and Iruka feels fine.

No swell of ego, no sudden boost of confidence, no urge to flex his arms and abdominals, or admire himself in the mirror the way Kotetsu had all those years ago.

Nothing.

Iruka refuses to relax, however, and only feels a hint of tell-tale comfort after burning all nine plus one used scroll, just in case, while simultaneously lamenting at how he wished the family picture of his parents had been saved instead of this useless garbage. It is in a sour mood that Iruka decides that he will join his friends for dinner after all, instead of utilizing the weekend to assemble his furniture in his new apartment, and maybe indulge himself in a little bit of alcohol. He’s officially lost everything he owns now. 

Iruka really should have known when it comes to stupid shit, his luck is never in his favor.

\--

The thing with these expired jutsus is that they’re unpredictable, especially if they had been unstable to begin with. There is no telling how it would manifest, assuming it would even manifest, because Iruka lacks the hard data to begin with. Kotetsu remains the sole surviving guinea pig of Paper-Courage. 

So when Iruka exhibits no similar symptoms the way Kotetsu did all those years ago a good two hours later, he finds himself relaxing into his dinner within the lively, crowded bar, chuckling at office gossip and telling himself that he is worried for nothing.

Until, that is, the proverbial slap to the face happens in the shape of a man suddenly being backed rather sharply against Iruka’s chair. Unintentionally it seems, as Tenzou appears to be dodging what looks like a juggling match of bar stools between Gai and Kakashi, just as one of those chairs seem to have gone awry from its juggle-path. Iruka jerks with the motion, his chopsticks clattering noisily on his plate, his mouth missing the small piece of pork cutlet completely, just as a warm hand steadies his chair and shoulder and Tenzou’s face looms into Iruka’s peripheral.

Tenzou’s rather charming, incredibly handsome, if not just a touch sheepishly apologetic happuri-free face, that is.

“Wow,” Iruka says. Loudly. With no breath in his lungs as he stares up at Tenzou rubbing the back of his head and dipping his chin in diffident embarrassment, his lips tugged up into a bit of a ghost of a smile, revealing his incisors and lovely teeth. Perfect teeth, even. Surely implants (there is no shinobi past the average chunin age who is still in possession of _all_ their real teeth), but hey, it certainly suits Tenzou. 

Iruka finds himself wondering which dentist is responsible for such a job well done. That alignment does magic for the Tenzou’s upper lip, his chin and his jawline.

What a looker.

The confused downward slope of Tenzou’s dark brows at Iruka’s reaction only further accentuates his sharp features. It gives him an edge, that subtle expression, hooding dark eyes for just a brief second, even if it is in confusion, before it irons out to something less serious at Iruka’s rather acute reaction. The soft sound of a huffing chuckle drifts past Tenzou’s lips, prompting Iruka’s gaze downwards, as he watches Tenzou’s Adam’s apple bob, going further down the crew-neck neckline of his long sleeved casual shirt to the expanse of a toned chest and thick arms. Iruka knows that under the fold and wrinkle of that cotton shirt is a toned, shinobi-ripped, tight, well kept body, further supported by legs that are just as strong, coiling with tensile strength, no doubt, and neatly clipped toenails.

“Ah, Iruka-san, forgive me. I seemed to have accidentally disturbed your meal,” Tenzou says, mild mannered, polite, the deep set of his rumbling baritone making Iruka’s stomach swoop inwards dangerously, just as he jerks his gaze up from Tenzou’s crotch to that handsome - gods, so handsome - face.

“Yamato-taichou, _you_ , as you are now, magnificent. To close my eyes and not look at your body would be _criminal_ ,” Iruka _blurts_ , and blinks with astute abhorrence at the words that just rolled past his lips. Voluntarily. Confidently. Oh gods.

Kotetsu and Izumo’s simultaneous choking is all the hint Iruka needs to know that this is bad. Really, really bad. Well, _fuck_.

Tenzou looks taken aback, the poor man, bless his patient heart.

His handsome face morphs to confusion before seeming to settle on bemusement, just as he quirks an eyebrow and _stares_ at Iruka like he’s grown ten heads in two seconds (which honestly, Iruka might as well have). “It is?”

“Taichou, there is a saying while I was growing up about men like you - _hot as fuck!_ So aside from being sexy, strong, dependendable and all around capable, what else do you do for a living~?” Iruka asks, in the most sultry tones he is capable of, one that shouldn’t ever be used outside a confined, very private space. The moment the words leave his mouth, Iruka jerks to his feet, his chair clattering backwards, cutlery rattling on the table by the sudden force of it. 

“Did you put something in his drink?” Izumo pinches Kotetsu. 

“Ow -- no! I didn’t! What the hell?”

“Oh no.” Iruka slaps a hand to his mouth. “Oh gods.”

Tenzou has his head tilted to one side, a hand up as he takes half a step back at the transpiring words at the table. Iruka watches the poor man’s dark, lovely, eyes dart between Izumo, Kotetsu and himself, as if trying to deduce with all the power of his field experience just what in the seven hells is going on. 

“I do apologize for the intrusion; I didn’t mean to disturb your table. It seemed to have gotten a little rowdy with the juggling contest - forgive me, I should have been more aware of --”

“Oh my darling do not apologize.” Iruka says silkily, as he tries to bite his lips shut, one palm slapping himself firmly on the cheek to stop. It does nothing to help Iruka, but it does make Tenzou sort of grin wryly. “Did the sun just come out or did you just smile at me -- oh my god, _help me!_ ” Iruka snaps at his two friends, who dissolves into guffaws of laughter at his expense.

“And do what?” Kotetsu asks, clueless as he schools his face into something an understanding, supportive, caring friend should wear -- goddamn ass.

“Iruka-san--” Tenzou tries but Iruka cuts him.

“It’s the scroll!” Iruka hysterically says, the loudness of it lost in the cacophony of noises and loud conversations taking place in the bar. Nobody even bothers to spare their table a second glance.

“If you say so,” Izumo chuckles, picking up his beer and raising it in a mock toast. 

Iruka is going to strangle his friends. This is not the time to encourage his behavior, make fun of him or be total jerks. This is the time for them to act, to stand by his side and escort him out of the premises because try to muster the need to step back and _away_ from the devilishly attractive specimen of a man as Iruka might, he can’t seem to make himself want to leave Tenzou’s presence. Honestly, had it been any other day, any other setting, Iruka would dig deep in his soul for the courage to be this forward with such an attractive man.

An attractive man that he has noticed for a while, but didn’t think of in any other way except professionally. Not that Iruka didn’t think Tenzou was ugly before -- far from it, in fact. Iruka remembers the day he met Tenzou for the first time at the Ichiraku, years ago, smack in the middle of Naruto’s training one fine spring afternoon. He had the pleasure of being introduced and his first impression of Tenzou being a solid, dependable and talented shinobi still hasn’t changed. Happuri or not, Tenzou is a nice person to look at. This fact isn’t new to Iruka, he’s known it for years. He’s still a hotblooded man at the not-so-utterly-old age of twenty-seven. Iruka can appreciate an attractive person, maybe even fantasize if his mind, hand and dick so do wishes; fantasies are for free. Besides, it’s not like it ever crossed his mind to actively pursue some sort of bond with Tenzou. Sure, they may have had a few dinners together. They may have even gone to the movie theater together after the war. Iruka has poured Tenzou a few drinks at the bar, and vice versa and sure, Iruka won’t deny that Tenzou is great company, is quite funny, if not a little dorky in his hobbies. He’s a big guy with a generosity that could stand toe to toe with Naruto if anything. But that had been it. Their polite acquaintance had been more than enough. 

Until now. 

As Iruka very dramatically, and very cheekily slaps one side of his body against Tenzou’s warm, sturdy, broad chest - gosh, it is such a nice chest - like a jellyfish, an arm looping around the lovely width of Tenzou’s shoulders, while his foot hooks up at the back of Tenzou’s left kneecap. The action prompts Tenzou to steady his balance by taking half a step back, stiffening the entire time, a hand coming up upon reflex to hook right under Iruka’s propped up knee, his eyes going wide as he turns to look at Iruka like he’s a carrier of some deadly plague.

Well, fuck him sideways, Tenzou feels incredibly good. Incredibly warm. And all hard lines, firm muscle. He smells clean too -- fresh laundry, and something a little musky under it all, just around his neck and hairline, like trees. Cedar trees in Konoha as it transitions from late summer to fall. Iruka isn’t sure if the specific comparison is the doings of the justu or just his head. 

Iruka means to apologize, really. But what comes out instead, much to his trepidation, is, “Hello there, I’m a thief. I’m here to steal your heart~”

“What makes you think you can?” Tenzou counters, utterly amused at this point. Why is Tenzou encouraging this? Why isn’t he pushing Iruka away, or shoving him to the ground where Iruka should frankly, just melt and die at this point. What is wrong with Tenzou? 

Kotetsu falls from his chair, clapping his hands like a man admiring a circus show, the fucking asshole. Some supportive friend he is. “Only one beer--” Kotetsu wheezes.

“Iruka--” Izumo _tries_ , reaching forward to tug Iruka’s arm away from Tenzou. 

But Iruka swats the hand away and loops both arms around Tenzou’s neck, his face torn between squawking in surprise before dissolving to what Iruka can only assume is a lecherous leer. “I will fuck you.”

That gets a sharp bark of laughter from Tenzou. 

And fuels a panic like no other in Iruka.

“I knew you were strict and steadfast, Iruka-san, but this is incredibly forward, even for you.”

“I don’t mean to be!” Iruka squawks, forcibly peeling himself away from Tenzou, dropping his foot back on the ground. Unfortunately, his libido seems to have a different idea all together because his hands come to rest, very pointedly, on the globes of Tenzou's ass. There may have been a bit of a shameless squeeze in there, too.

“Iruka-san, please remove your hands from my ass,” Tenzou politely requests. 

“It was an accident!” Iruka helplessly responds, as he ignores a part of him that says it’s a great ass. It’s a magnificent ass. It’s nice, firm, the kind a coin would definitely bounce off of. The kind that provides ample support for maximum thrusting power if --

“Your hands are still on my ass,” Tenzou patiently points out.

“It is still an accident!” Iruka all but crows, just as Tenzou firmly places his hands on Iruka’s wrists and removes said hand from said lovely ass. They end up standing there, almost toe to toe, with Tenzou keeping a steady, firm grip on Iruka’s wrists lest it goes wandering about his body again. Iruka doesn’t seem to mind. It’s nice. Tenzou has nice hands. “You know what you remind me of? A magnet! You sure are attracting me over here.”

Iruka wants to _die_.

If he had any fantasies of picking up Tenzou, it certainly wouldn’t be like this.

Lightning strike him now, Iruka doesn’t think he can live down with this kind of embarrassment. Not anymore.

“Okay,” Tenzou begins, carefully and slowly, shaking his head and smothering another bemused chuckle. “I am going to go and leave you in your friends'-” Tenzou spares Kotetetsu wheezing form and Izumo’s amused but also apologetic form a glance. “-capabilities and just remove myself from here.”

“Don’t go!” Iruka _protests_ , struggling and freeing his hands from Tenzou’s grip. “Oh gods, I can’t believe I’m saying this but I don’t have to fuck you. You can fuck _me_ instead! In fact, please do so! I would so love to have your cock in me and --”

Izumo promptly clamps a hand over Iruka’s mouth and _yanks_ him backwards. “Forgive my friend, Tenzou-san. It would seem he’s had a little too much to drink - ow!” 

Iruka gnashes his teeth a few times at Izumo like an angry crocodile before snapping, “It’s that fucking jutsu-” 

Apparently, the word jutsu seems to wipe all sorts of humor from Tenzou’s face. He straightens at that, outright frowning, looking serious and even more handsome and why, why, won’t Tenzou just fuck off already? An uninterested human being would have high tialed out of the bar a long time ago. Is Tenzou thick in the head or something?

“Jutsu?” Tenzou asks, his gaze darting between Iruka and Izumo.

“He’s drunk, don’t mind him, he’s probably just - no! Do not bite me! Oh my god, what is wrong with you?” Izumo snaps, dodging Iruka’s mouth and shoving him backwards to put some distance.

“It’s Paper Courage!” Iruka manages to squawk out, just as he turns his gaze to Tenzou and another pick up line forms at the tip of his tongue. “My buddies bet me that I wouldn’t be able to start a conversation with the hottest person in the bar. Wanna buy some drinks with their money?”

“Oh no.” Kotetsu scrambles up to his feet, as if being doused by an invisible bucket of ice. 

“Oh shit.” Izumo pales.

“ _Fuck_.” Iruka doubles over and clamps a hand over his mouth. He then proceeds to make shooing gestures with his other hand at Tenzou, hoping to everything that Tenzou would just get with the program and fuck off already.

“What is Paper Courage?” Tenzou asks, clearly not the kind of man to abandon a comrade who is clearly in distress, judging by the looks of his friends.

That seems to have been the trigger because Kotetsu is fishing his wallet out and leaving bills on the table, while Izumo grabs Iruka and shoves a thick wad of table napkins into his mouth to prevent Iruka from saying anymore embarrassing things, thank fuck. The gesture, however, doesn’t seem to sit quite well with Tenzou because instead of assuring him, now he’s just concerned.

“It’s a fairly harmless jutsu that we created years ago.” Izumo shoves another wad of table napkin into Iruka’s mouth when Iruka successfully spits the first one out.

“How harmless?” 

“Not the village destructing kind, that’s for sure,” Kotetsu huffs, shaking his head and grabbing Iruka by the head and holding him steady. “Stop fighting it, you moron!”

“Is it the Academy-teacher-Naruto’s-precious-person kind of destructive?” Tenzou prompts quite firmly. The way he says Naruto’s name, it goes without saying that he’s referring to the Jinchuriki but not unkindly.

Iruka rolls his eyes when his friends exchange looks, the words get-me-out-of-here successfully muffled by the thick wad of table napkins.

“Maybe?” Kotetsu offers almost meekly.

“Maybe.” Tenzou wears his most unimpressed face.

“What he means is,” Izumo corrects, as he wraps a firm arm around Iruka’s other arm, getting ready to shunshin out of the bar. “We’re not sure because it’s an old, supposedly expired unstable jutsu that Iruka should have had no business fiddling with - are you _insane,_ Iruka? Stop trying to headbutt me! We are helping you!” 

Iruka doesn’t stop though. In fact, he doesn’t listen to the plethora of reasons Izumo and Kotetsu are directring at him to calm down because he can’t calm down. He wants nothing more but to be close to Tenzou, to inhale that musky scent and be reminded of Konoha during the late summers, that wondrous refreshing scent of cedar trees. He wants to feel the warmth emanate from Tenzou’s body, to taste his skin under his tongue, trace scars with his fingers and lips and know what it really feels like to have that lovely set of teeth sink into Iruka’s bottom lip as they kiss. Iruka wants to card his fingers through Tenzou’s hair, tell him how incredibly sexy he looks when he’s serious, tease the syllables of his title in Tenzou’s ears as they oh so slowly fuck, that no doubt, impressive cock filling Iruka’s body and --

Iruka breaks free from his friends, pulls the wad of paper napkins from his mouth, then proceeds to all but wrap his arms around Tenzou’s neck, slanting their lips together in what is a torrid, passionate and hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss. 

Just as the floor drops from under his feet and the light spins around him in a rapid pull of chakra.

*

They emerge with a whoomph in the middle of Izumo and Kotetsu’s apartment in a stumble of limbs while Tenzou grabs Iruka by the hip and pushes him back firmly, a gasp on his face, eyes blown wide and his mouth and chin glistening from the attempt at a passionate kiss. 

“Iruka-san!” Tenzou warns, his cheeks flushed, and proceeds to hold Iruka back at an arm’s length, pushing him back onto a chair that Kotetsu drags out from under a table. 

“You taste good, Yamato-san,” Iruka _grins_ , his tongue sweeping over the tiers of his lips as he is held back by Izumo on the chair as Kotetsu proceeds to tie him down with chakra rope. 

“Sorry Yamato-san, but you can leave now. We got this,” Izumo says, grabbing Iruka by the chin so firmly that it smooshes Iruka’s cheeks, shaking him a little bit to get the point across. “You are _not_ headbutting me again! Stop it!”

Kotetsu ties the last knot on Iruka’s ankles before stepping back and sighing with a bit of relief. “Okay, so this is what we’re going to do. We-”

“Yamato-san, did it hurt?” Iruka asks, tilting his head and waggling his eyebrows very suggestively. “When you fell from heaven? You know I can show you the world. With my lips~”

“Oh shut up, Iruka!” Izumo grumps, rolling his eyes, pretending not to see the embarrassed flush crawling up Tenzou’s neck and cheeks.

“You should go. He’s not going to be normal anytime soon. I can tell you’re not comfortable with his suggestions,” Kotetsu sighs, shaking his head.

“And exactly how long is he going to be uh -” Tenzou clears his throat at Iruka waggling his tongue at him, as if he were licking invisible balls. “- like this?”

“Uhmm - six hours was it?” Kotetsu asks, turning to look at Izumo.

“Thereabouts. But that was when the jutsu had been somewhat stable. I mean, more stable than an expired one anyway.” Izumo rubs the back of his head, tugging off his bandana forehead protector.

“I…” Tenzou trails off, before shaking his head and pointedly not looking at Iruka attempting to roll his hips on the chair. “I wasn’t aware jutsus could expire? Not if it's sealed within a scroll?”

“This one does. Or it’s meant to deactivate after a certain period of inactive use.” Kotetsu shrugs before his face suddenly plummets and he casts Izumo a weary look. “Maybe Iruka got the seal wrong?”

“This was Iruka’s creation?” Tenzou blinks, rubbing the back of his head in mounting perplexity.

“No, it was the three of us, but the seals were all Iruka. We worked on the chemical aspect of it.” Izumo jerks a thumb at Kotetsu’s direction to punctuate the point. 

Iruka’s chair tips over. He crashes down on the floor with a loud thump, giggling the entire way all while attempting to look at his crotch. “Oh Yamato-taichou~” Iruka singsongs. “Look! I’m hard for you~”

The flush on Tenzou’s face increases a hundred fold. There is a long period of silence only disturbed by Iruka’s lips making kissy noises. Tenzou must have had enough because it is in a show of command that he straightens, clears his throat, points at Izumo and Kotetsu and says, “Tell me everything. Start from the beginning.”

Izumo and Kotetsu exchanges looks, quite unsure. Until Tenzou narrows his eyes further, takes an intimidating step forward, a shadow crossing his features. “Now.” 

“Well, I mean we were fifteen…” Izumo begins.

\--

By the time Izumo and Kotetsu finish narrating the story and scribbles down what they do remember from the jutsu, Tenzou is left standing there with what feels like the beginnings of the headache because boy, were they not kidding. Not only is it a complex series of seals, but it remains incomplete. Reverse engineering a incomplete jutsu would be like sticking one’s hand into a fine, capillary sized series of electrical wires and hoping to catch the correct malfunctioning one. 

It is quite genius though, Tenzou will admit.

The reason behind it, however, he’s not quite sure.

He can, however, see how such a complexity of seals can be used in the field. The thought of bugging Iruka once this is all over to come up with attack based jutsus for traps crosses his mind. He files that away for something to endeavor with the not surprisingly intelligent Academy teacher. 

For now, Tenzou had a flushed, slightly dazed looking Iruka slouched on the chair, staring up at him with what can only be described as starry eyed. 

“Yamato-san, do you know how handsome you are~?” Iruka asks, batting his eyelashes.

This about the eighty-fifth time Iruka is asking Tenzou the same question. And it’s only been an hour and five minutes, too.

“Would you like some water, Iruka?” Tenzou asks, sighing tiredly. Izumo and Kotetsu were both sitting in the corner staring deploringly at their high and horny friend.

“I’d prefer to drink your warm, hot milk, Yamato-san~” Iruka carols, chewing on his lower lip. “Your thick, luscious, fresh milk that I’m gonna milk between my lips and note waste at all~”

“Would it be abusive if I just slap him? Just once?” Kotetsu asks.

“I don’t think so,” Izumo _sighs_.

Tenzou brings both heels of his palm to press against his eye socket.

“I’m gonna make you feel good~ So, so, good, Yahhhhmaaaahhhhto-sahhhhnnnn~” Iruka says, craning his neck upwards to the ceiling and punctuating it with breathy moans that is outright embarrassing, if not uncomfortable.

“Please tell me I wasn’t like this all those years ago.” Kotetsu clamps his hands over his ears. 

“No, you were just shouting after hour one,” Izumo grumbles.

“Yamato-san, you don’t think I’m attractive?” Iruka asks, frowning, almost pitiful like an exaggerated sex kitten about to receive disappoionting news. “Am I not your type? Wouldn’t you ever want to be with me?”

Tenzou smartly keeps his mouth shut. 

That seems to have been the wrong thing to do because much to Tenzou’s mounting horror, Iruka’s eyes start to well with tears. 

Big, fat, gleaming streams of tears that begin to carve down a smooth cheek. 

Iruka roar of grief is _loud_. He sobs like he’s just received news that he’s lost his parents, or a loved one. He cries inconsolably, weeping with abundance, sobbing that his breaths come out stuttered like he’s a helpless child. Had he not been held against the chair’s backrest, Iruka would undoubtedly crumple to the ground and curl up helplessly. His shirt is soaked in minutes at the ferocity of his yawning disappointment at what Tenzou can only assume, had been his own silence at Iruka’s line of questioning.

It’s a terrible sight. Seeing Iruka cry like this.

Crumpling like used chakra paper and unable to hold himself up.

It’s hideous that a strong, proud teacher would be reduced to this weeping sack of flesh, grief pouring out of his mouth and rendering his pallor the color of stale bread. When Iruka, Tenzou thinks, is sunshine and summer fields, the color that washes the world, warmth and unending patience and kindness. Iruka is beautiful, and something like crying grief should stay as far away as possible from someone like him. 

“Dude, what the fuck!” Kotetsu snaps at Tenzou, jolting him out of his shock.

“I - I didn’t say anything!” Tenzou counters.

“Well you did something because - oh my god, Iruka, calm down! Breathe!” Kotetsu sticks a hand down Iruka’s back, rubbing it and trying to offer some sort of consolation. “He’s not - do something!” 

“Like what, punch him in the face? Knock him out?” Tenzou asks, panicking.

And panic and Tenzou don't belong in the same sentence. He doesn’t panic. He doesn’t think he even knows what panic feels like. But if the jackhammering of his heart and the capsizing swoop of stomach acid is any indication, followed by his own shortness of breath, then this must be panic all right. 

“Say something nice!” Izumo urges, grabbing a foldable fan and fanning air against Iruka’s face. “Flirt back! Tell him you want him!”

“You mean pick him up?” Tenzou’s voice may have gone up an octave.

“Yes, _taichou_ , pretend we’re at the bar. He’s someone you want to pick up and fuck - go!” Kotetsu barks, his bangs swooping back with every powerful, frantic fanning of the paper fan.

Iruka _wails_.

“Uh - ahh - this is - I mean -” Tenzou wracks his brain for a pick-up line, failing 

“Man, he’s going to pass out!” Izumo panics. “Wait maybe that’s a good thing-”

“- Iruka-san, do you believe in love at first sight or should I pass by again?” Tenzou jabbers, heat spilling all over his cheeks as dread twists his stomach. Of all the lines that he could have possibly used, why did it have to be that?

Maybe it is the horror of the situation, or the fact that Iruka’s lips had a tinge of purple around the corners from suffocating himself with grief, but Kotetsu seems to have choked on his own spit, torn between looking at Tenzou with disgust while judging him from head toe, or whooping with joy because Iruka finally gulps down a long, deep breath, the wails coming to a slow stutter stop.

“Seriously?” Izumo asks, clearly also shocked at Tenzou.

Tenzou doesn’t judge Izumo of Kotetsu -- he’s shocked at himself as well.

Iruka sucks in another breath and quietly peers up from under the loose fall of his bangs at Tenzou in a way he never should. Small, weak, heart broken, and so, so sad when Iruka should never look like this. Gods, why on earth did Iruka even have an expired jutsu to begin with? Why didn’t the destruction of Konoha take that seemingly god forsaken jutsu away like it did with a lot of Konoha citizens’ belongings? 

The wailing grief abates to hiccupping sniffles. 

“Oh, oh - oh! Say another one!” Kotetsu says, scowling when Tenzou looks at him with what Tenzou can only assume is a mimicry of a goldfish. “Oh for fuck’s sake -- flirt back! Come on! Pump those lines out!”

“Right - right!” Tenzou shakes his head and kneels in front of Iruka, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Iruka-sensei, you don’t happen to have a pencil in your pocket do you? I’d like to erase the past and write our future together, if you’d let me.”

Izumo and Kotetsu both _snort_. 

Tenzou tells himself that punching them out cold right now would be of no use.

“You find me attractive?” Iruka asks, his voice low, uncertain.

“I do. Very much,” Tenzou nows, going with it.

Or he thinks he’s going with it.

It’s not that he doesn’t find Iruka attractive. It’s quite the opposite.

“Would I be someone you’d want?” Iruka asks, chewing on his lower lip, insecurity painted all over his face.

“It’s kind of hard not to want you, Iruka,” Tenzou answers, momentarily dipping his chin downwards to stare at the ground, shaking his head in as he all but admits what he’d never admit under normal circumstances. “You’re beautiful.”

The room goes quiet, only disturbed by Iruka shuddering inhale. 

“So I’m your type, Yamato-san?” Iruka whispers.

Tenzou nods at the ground before raising his eyes up to hold Iruka’s thankfully not as teary gaze, his throat going dry as he opens his mouth to respond but fails. A beat passes by. The expectant look on Iruka’s face doesn’t go away. Helpless, Tenzou offers Iruka a small shrug. “You’re my type.”

The smile that graces Iruka’s face is warm and bright, dimples dotting both his cheeks as he looks at Tenzou like he’s the only existence in the world. The glimmering light in Iruka’s eyes are specs of gold in a sea of molten warmth, a flush dusting over his cheeks at Tenzou’s response -- or admittance, Tenzou isn’t even sure which of the two is the truth.

Tenzou knows one thing though. 

He wouldn’t ever risk whatever small friendship or acquaintance he had with Iruka be tarnished by a pathetic, expired jutsu, of all things. He would much rather have Iruka be left in the care of medical professionals than to ‘ride or die just like the first time’ as Izumo and Kotetsu puts it. Fucking Iruka isn’t a foreign concept in Tenzou’s mind. He’s had vivid dreams and morning hard-ons caused by none other than the friendly, funny, and attractive teacher.

Tenzou likes their casual dinners if time or chance permits.

He likes their short talks or occasional run-ins at the market place or the administrative building.

He likes Iruka.

And now, Tenzou can’t stop the sudden inward swoop of his stomach nor can he do anything about his heart suddenly racing with adrenaline under his ribcage. He remains there, unmoving, in the wake of Iruka’s smile as disappointment at the situation seems to war with pathetic hope that maybe, maybe he can be Iruka’s type too.

Jutsu effect or not.

He really should have just left, his concern for a ‘friend’ be damned. 

“Will you kiss me, Yamato-san?” Iruka asks, dropping his voice to a softer whisper. “Will you come to bed with me?”

“Not like this, no,” Yamato answers.

The sincerity of it seems to stir something in Iruka because his eyes, if anything, brightens even more. It’s enough to tug at something as fickle and thin as a thread, somewhere under Tenzou’s ribs. 

“Later, maybe?” Iruka asks, tilting his head, so, so painfully hopeful.

Tenzou doesn’t answer this time.

Instead, he reaches up to cup Iruka’s face, gentle and careful, dragging his palm to rest over his neck and racing pulse -- Iruka is nervous, it seems -- and firmly presses down on a bundle of nerves. Iruka’s eyes roll back and he slumps like dead weight against the chair.

The room is thrown into a very awkward silence.

“Or we could just knock him out, yeah…” Kotetsu wise cracks.

Tenzou _sighs_. “Untie him…” 

\--

Iruka wakes up with what had to be the hangover of the freaking century.

He startles awake with a bit of a jerk, his heel kicking at the sofa arm rest, a snort tearing past his throat as he winces at the afternoon light pouring in from the window. The sweet taste of spit drying around the corners of his mouth makes Iruka smack his lips a little bit, as he carefully sits up and cradles his sore head, groaning at the ache in his body and fucking sun shining so fucking happily outside in the fucking sky.

Disoriented, Iruka turns a little on the sofa, recognizing the plaid weave as the sofa he frequently favors every time he crashes at Izumo and Kotetsu’s place after too much beer (sometimes). Iruka is familiar with their apartment and their schedule. Judging by the sun’s position outside, Kotetsu would be at gate futy and Izumo in the administration building. 

The person sitting on the single seater though, is an anomaly. 

“How do you feel?” Tenzou asks, carefully extending a tall glass of water towards Iruka.

“Like utter shit,” Iruka grumps, taking the glass of water and gulping down the entire thing. If anything, the water seems to accentuate the bitter taste in his mouth. “God, it’s like someone died in my throat. My head also really hurts.”

“You’ve been asleep for about thirteen hours now. But I am told that it is something to be expected? A side effect of the jutsu?” Tenzou offers gently.

“Right -- right the Paper Courage and…” Iruka trails off.

Memories of the night before comes slamming back behind Iruka’s scrunched eyelids -- oh gods. Oh gods the trash that had left his mouth. The horrid lines. The crying -- gods the pathetic crying at the thought of not having a shot at being with Tenzou, at the lack of the possibility, at the knowledge that Tenzou would never be interested in him whatsoever -- Iruka _groans._

“I hate that fucking jutsu,” Iruka mutters, burying his face inhis hands, shame splashing crimson all over his face and down the length of his neck. “I’m so sorry you had to witness all that, Yamato-san. Forgive me for putting you in such an uncomfortable position.”

“It’s quite alright,” Tenzou answers, setting the glass aside at a safe distance. “These things happen.”

It doesn’t, Iruka wants to say but doesn’t, keeping his gaze focused on the grain of the wooden floors instead. “I also apologize for my friends’ improper behavior.”

“They had your best interests at heart,” Tenzou nods.

“So did you, it seems…” Iruka murmurs.

“Of course,” Tenzou agrees, nodding once more. “I mean, some of your lines were funny.”

“Oh stop,” Iruka moans, shaking his head, carding his fingers through his lose hair.

“I particularly quite enjoyed the ‘aside from being sexy, strong, dependable and all around capable, what else do you do for a living’ bit. You sure know how to boost a guy’s ego, Iruka-san,” Tenzou grins.

“I mean you know - it’s not like what I said isn’t true! I mean, you are dependable, capable, strong and well, you’re not - I mean, you’re not ugly at all, Yamato-san.” Iruka awkwardly explains, the flush darkening on the apples of his cheeks. 

“I’m not?” Tenzou grins.

“Please don’t make fun of me. I’m merely stating a factual observation. No, it’s not an opinion if your fellow shinobi subordinates agree,” Iruka huffs, shakily getting on his feet to draw the drapes shut.

Tenzou’s grin grows wider, much to Iruka’s embarrassment.

Iruka huffs as he tugs the drapes shut only to inhale sharply when the warmth of Tenzou’s voice brushes over the shell of his ear. “Is that so?” 

Iruka _stares_ at the weave of curtain fabric, his throat going dry. “I’m afraid that’s the truth, yes.”

“Well, that’s news to me, I’m sure you understand. I’m confident you’d feel better by tomorrow. What do you say we discuss this factual observation along with your intricate seal knowledge over dinner tomorrow night? Maybe at Toshi’s? At seven? And perhaps a nightcap afterwards?”

Iruka finds himself stammering, caught by surprise, the answer flowing past his lips before he can stop it, just as the last bit of shudder travels down his spine. “I would love to discuss this further, yes.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow at seven, then,” Tenzou murmurs, his lips _almost_ touching Iruka’s ear.

A brush of cool air later and Tenzou is gone, leaving Iruka to turn and lean against the window sill, staring at the spot Tenzou had been standing on, his face as read as summer cherries.

Maybe the jutsu isn’t so _bad_ after all?

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I am writing again after a long period of mental health issues and medication adjustment. Figures I'd write something stupid like this LOLOLOL. Hope you had a laugh/this somewhat cheers up your day, if anything ^_^


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